


Take Me To Church

by therisingharvestmoon



Category: Notre-Dame de Paris | The Hunchback of Notre-Dame - All Media Types, The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: Church Sex, Consensual Sex, F/M, Femdom, Loss of Virginity, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 15:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6056107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therisingharvestmoon/pseuds/therisingharvestmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rewrite of the scene where Frollo approaches Esmeralda in Notre Dame. AU/OOC (sort of). Smut without much of a plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me To Church

**Author's Note:**

> Both characters in my mind are composites of the book, Disney and Paper Mill musical. Frollo's position is that of the Disney film, but his approach to Esmeralda is closer to the musical. Physically/age-wise I imagined them both older - her in her late 20s/early 30s, and him around 50s. Enjoy!

_ My lover's got humour _

_ She's the giggle at a funeral _

_ Knows everybody's disapproval _

_ I should've worshipped her sooner _

_ If the Heavens ever did speak _

_ She is the last true mouthpiece _

_ Every Sunday's getting more bleak _

_ A fresh poison each week _

_ 'We were born sick, ' you heard them say it _ __   
  


_ My church offers no absolutes _

_ She tells me 'worship in the bedroom' _

_ The only heaven I'll be sent to _

_ Is when I'm alone with you _

_ I was born sick, but I love it _

_ Command me to be well _

_ Amen. Amen. Amen _ __   
  


_ Take me to church _

_ I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies _

_ I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife _

_ Offer me that deathless death _

_ Good God, let me give you my life _ __   
  


_ Take me to church _

_ I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies _

_ I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife _

_ Offer me that deathless death _

_ Good God, let me give you my life _ __   
  


_ If I'm a pagan of the good times _

_ My lover's the sunlight _

_ To keep the Goddess on my side _

_ She demands a sacrifice _

_ To drain the whole sea _

_ Get something shiny _

_ Something meaty for the main course _

_ That's a fine looking high horse _

_ What you got in the stable? _

_ We've a lot of starving faithful _

_ That looks tasty _

_ That looks plenty _

_ This is hungry work _ __   
  


_ Take me to church _

_ I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies _

_ I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife _

_ Offer me that deathless death _

_ Good God, let me give you my life _ __   
  


_ Take me to church _

_ I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies _

_ I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife _

_ Offer me that deathless death _

_ Good God, let me give you my life _

_ No masters or kings when the ritual begins _

_ There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin _

_ In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene _

_ Only then I am human _

_ Only then I am clean _

_ Amen. Amen. Amen _ __   
  


_ Take me to church _

_ I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies _

_ I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife _

_ Offer me that deathless death _

_ Good God, let me give you my life _

_ Take me to church _

_ I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies _

_ I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife _

_ Offer me that deathless death _

__ Good God, let me give you my life  
  
\--

 

In that moment and in every moment since he saw her dancing, Claude Frollo has no idea exactly what he’s doing. The Bohemian is completely enraptured with the cathedral just as he is with her, staring up at the cold grey light streaming through the stained glass as if it were sent from heaven itself. He sees her ruby lips slightly parted as she stares up and around and it sends a shudder through him. The only souls around are those bent in genuflection, silently asking for forgiveness. He only thinks of what is going through her mind, and doesn’t pause to reflect that perhaps he should be thinking of his own soul. What drives him here? He knows not. He knows not what to feel.    
  
There is a breeze from one of the open doors and the candles flicker, and Esmeralda shivers. He has to stifle a groan, shrinking back behind the pillar further. The way she carries herself with no one else around… It is the same way as when all eyes are upon her. Frollo is then struck all of a sudden with a wave of affection that is different from the blinding, white-hot lust he has been feeling since she danced for him (or so it felt that way). It is a more pure feeling than any he has felt in his entire life, and is the only one which threatens to overcome his desire for her body: it is a desire for her soul. He sees this girl - almost a child, really - and he wants to help her. This intense focus on the gypsy girl has of course prevented him from recognising a complete change of heart, but the feeling washes over him just the same. It will require a change of tactic, he thinks to himself. Frollo feels he will surely burst if he remains silent much longer, so he steps from the shadows just as he is reaching to light a candle for her prayers.

 

‘If I may?’

 

Esmeralda whirls, and gasps, recognising his baritone whisper. ‘Judge Frollo!’ 

 

Her hand goes to her thigh where he assumes there is a dagger strapped, and her eyes dart around to look for his men. She realises they are alone, and watches with a confused glean in those brilliant emeralds as he takes a long match and lights her candle, blowing it out, never breaking eye contact. 

 

‘La Esmeralda,’ he counters simply. ‘We use these for the ones at the back. To prevent burning’. Frollo smiles coyly.

 

‘What are you doing here?’ She whispers, still looking for a sign of a trap, or perhaps help, but no one is paying them any heed. ‘What do you want from me?’

 

In the time it takes for him to blink, hundreds of images flood his imagination, and in most of them she is without her clothing. Eyes open again, she is staring at him defiantly, unconvinced and wary. He kept the smirk affixed to his face, thinking of the answer. He was not entirely sure anymore. It had started out as primal, angry, confusion, but here as she trembled before the grace of God he was not entirely sure that her devil’s magic was to blame. Frollo saw how terrified she was, and he could not take what he needed from her like that, no. It surprised him how tempered she had made him now, close up, to see that she was human. Fragile as she had made him. His next words escaped his mouth in a gentle whisper, with no trace of the power play as of before. ‘I wanted to thank you.’

 

Her green eyes flicked up and down, searching him for deceit. ‘Thank me? Thank me for what, the near-trampling? The public defiance?’

 

Frollo chuckled lowly. ‘No, my dear, for the kindness you showed to my ward, Quasimodo. I have made mistakes in my time, but I had hoped protecting him as though he were my own would help atone for them. You see, he is a fragile boy, deaf from the ringing of the bells. And as you saw out there, strangers don’t take kindly to him.’ His thin lips quirked up into a side-smile as he appraised her. ‘Well, most strangers.’

 

Esmeralda stared at him as though those words were the last she ever expected the notoriously harsh judge to say. She felt something in her chest, something that felt a lot like opportunity. It had been why she singled him out, after all.

 

‘It comes as naturally to me as breathing, your honour.’ Her thick eyebrows furrowed and she relaxed her shoulders. ‘That was my prayer, actually.’ Her eyes flicked sideways to the candle he had lit for her.

 

He followed her gaze, taking a step closer. ‘Oh?’ 

 

‘That you would extend the same kindness to my people. To me.’   
  
Frollo’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘The church offers them sanctuary, does it not? It offers alms and bread and shelter in its walls? The people of Paris are touched by famine and plague, as are your people, but it to them I show my duty’. He lifted his chin, staring down at her as she had taken another step closer. ‘What is it that would have me do?’

 

Esmeralda’s heart fluttered and she took yet another step closer to the judge in their candlelit annex. If he could see her as a person, he might see them all as people. ‘To show mercy to us, my lord. To show leniency in your sentences.’ His face hardened, so she reached out to clasp his robes with her small hands. ‘Not always, not every time. But sometimes, our stealing is to feed our children. Do not take away mothers from their children. Do not let the last view an old man will see be the inside of stone walls. I beg of you, Judge Frollo, do not!’

 

Her eyes shone as she stared up into his face, and he could hardly breathe for her close proximity and that of which she asked him. But she was so close, he could smell that scent of orange and jasmine in her hair. Her dainty, dirty bare feet on the stone steps were poised up so she could reach him closer. Hands by his side, he stood as still as the stone around him, and his eyes found hers, shining in the darkness. ‘And what of you?’ He had never struck a bargain and not come out on top. ‘Your people. What of your people? If I show them mercy, as a good man in my position should, of course - then will they fall in line?’ His hand snatched her wrist from his robes, and his long, spidery fingers wrapped around the delicate limb, firmly, not painfully. ‘What then?’ His eyes found hers, hoping to convey his meaning. ‘What will you give me if I do this? What will they?’

 

Esmeralda could feel his breath on her face but she did not shirk away. She had known exactly what Frollo had wanted from her the moment she saw him up close for the first time, the way he watched her dance and tried to hide it. The way he looked at her when she kissed his nose. 

 

‘They will not be given an inch to take a mile, your honour, I promise you that.’ His heart seemed to stop as she drew herself closer, now merely inches between his own chest and her supple form. ‘I could… Give an inch. For them. For you.’ Her eyes were flicking between his eyes and his mouth. ‘I could… do anything,’ she whispered huskily. ‘Willingly.’

 

He hadn’t realised he was panting until he stepped away. It was though he had been stung. He looked around, but there was only the dark church, all sunlight gone, filled with the low murmurings and supplications of the faithful ready for evening mass. ‘The bells will toll soon,’ he said, to no one in particular. He looked at her suddenly. She was watching him, the fear in her eyes again. He felt a pang of regret and fear that he had scared her away. The truth was that he had almost pressed his lips into her full mouth then and there with all to see, and not a care about it. He softened his features and indicated to the confessional behind her, unused on this side of the church. The choir had begun, and the cover of dark and noise was all he needed. ‘Come.’

 

The space was cramped, only meant for one. She was so close now, but still he did not touch her. Frollo sat and Esmeralda stood, waiting. She could still see most of him even here. His breathing was harsh and ragged. Finally, he spoke. ‘Do you have any idea the power you have over me, Bohemian witch?’ The insult flicked off his tongue in a way that did not so much scare her as send shudders to other parts of her body.

 

Esmeralda’s whisper was as equally soft and teasing. ‘I do have some idea, Judge Frollo.’ She approached him, and he did not flinch back as though burned this time.

 

‘Claude,’ he managed to croak.

 

In the half light he saw her lips smile around his name. ‘Claude.’ She hitched her thin cotton dress up over her knees to expose more of those legs, dark and shapely. He stared up at her, waiting for her to show him what to do, having never touched a woman in his life. She must have assumed so, plucking his hands from his sides as she straddled him. ‘ _ Claudius cum Gloria _ ’, she smiled wickedly, kissing first one of his palms then the other.

 

Her use of Latin shocked him as much as the feeling of her lips pressed against his hands. Lord in heaven, it had only been a day and yet he felt as though he had been parched for a thousand years and she was a beautiful desert oasis - oh! 

All thoughts stopped as she sat on his lap, this time with only their garments separating their skin. She saved him the humiliation of not knowing what to do by doing it herself. He was not embarrassed by his lack of experience. He felt no jealous rage in guessing that he was not the first to have her, nor would he be the last. Sometime in his chest stirred as she sat kissing his hands, his rings of office. There was no need to eliminate competition, for she had chosen this. There was no need to remind her of what he could do to her, for this was all that matter. He was shocked out of these thoughts when she took his hand and cupped her breast with it. He felt like a brood mare being mounted, felt like he must do something in return.

 

Gently, feeling returned to Frollo’s limbs and he made his own hand squeeze, the other travelling up her beautiful neck into her beautiful hair. His clumsiness made him wish he had paid more attention to lovers walking along the docks at night instead of reviling them for so long. Reviling this, for so long. But as he brought her head down for the first real kiss of his life, it mattered not. And she moaned lightly into his lips as the choir started singing, not really seeming to mind the gentleness with which he explored her.

 

Just as he’d feared, and just as he’d never knew he’d wanted, everything else seemed to melt away. Perhaps this is what he’d mistaken for Satan’s work in her? He knew it was important, but it was all so far away. He felt himself stir under her as she pressed her hips and what lay in between them against his lap. He spent what seemed like forever kissing her lips and face, smelling that raven hair and tasting her skin, floral and tangy. She had removed his hat and cape, left with just ministerial robes. She delighted in the surprising firmness of his body, in the heat which he exuded in this cold place of worship. Together they were as hot as the sun.

 

Frollo - Claude - looked confused as Esmeralda took a step back, her back pressing against the inside of the wooden door. She smirked at the sight of him rigid beneath black robes, and he drank in the sight of her dropping her painted vest then lifting her dress up over her head to drop to the stone floor. There were no undergarments underneath. She couldn’t see completely, but she heard him suck in his breath and curse, overwhelmed.

 

‘It’s okay,’ she whispered, stepping closer to him. ‘I want you, Claude.’ She leaned closer, hating his existence and loving how he was about to make her feel, guessing that for him it was much the same. ‘I want you inside, will you have me?’ 

 

He could not help but lean back into the cold stone as she trailed her hands down to his waist to pull his hose down to his ankles. He could not help but groan as he sprang free of this constricting garment. He almost stopped breathing as she hitched his robes up over his head, her feeling as though this would make them equal. He had never felt weaker, and never enjoyed it more. ‘I will have you, yes.’ He closed his eyes as she straddled him again, fearing the feeling of her vulva against him would make him burst right then and there. He said something but it caught in his throat. She leant over him, touching his face gently, he looked up into her green eyes. ‘You tremble. It is terrifying the first time, but it won’t hurt you as it does us.’ She searched his grey eyes. ‘Touch me first then,’ Esmeralda whispered. ‘Know me first.’

 

He felt betrayed by his body as his erection pressed against her still, yet too nervous to move. Her words were a comfort. She straddled him still, but took his hands in hers. To her neck they went first, then smoothed down over her chest to her full breasts. Though he could barely see, they were so full and beautiful, so otherworldly and foreign to him. She grazed his fingers over her nipples, hard under the touch. He marvelled at these new feelings, so much more than mounting and impregnation, for all he had seen in his life were animals. He felt much more man than animal now, finding Esmeralda in the dark. He traced the bumps delicately, exploring on his own. He had nothing to compare this to, but he longed to kiss them too. His face in her heaving chest was exquisite, and she groaned aloud when his mouth found her nipple. He suckled gently, as though a babe, and still her hips pressed down upon him. Confident, his other hand found her juncture, but paused. His knowledge of anatomy, particularly female, was basic at best. She looked down at him, found two fingers and held them together against her sex.

 

‘It’s best to start… here.’ Her short cropped hair was wet and then suddenly there were her velvety folds. He groaned to feel that, never having thought that skin would be different to the rest of the beautiful body. It was so soft and moist. With his fingertips, she found her moist nub for him, and she rolled her hips around for him to feel. ‘Here first,’ she breathed. Then she curled his fingers with her hand, pressing them further down and - oh! His long thin fingers were inside her. ‘Then here,’ she practically moaned.

 

Face at her breasts and fingers sliding so delicately over her then in her, Esmeralda’s breathing soon became erratic. He could have spilled his seed just as they were, but at the feeling of his hips thrusting up against her as she had before, she stopped his hands. ‘No. Inside me. Please.’

 

_ Please.  _ Her words were all that he could bear. The singing in the cathedral had started up again, this time louder. He let her show him his part too. A jolt ran up his spine as her lithe hand wrapped around him so expertly, stroking only once or twice make it wet for her. She leaned forward, balancing on him, his face in her neck. Slowly as to not overwhelm him, she slid downward, his sword taking the place where his fingers had been. And she was hot - oh Maria! - tighter and hotter than his own hand or even hers or anything his unconscious could have dreamed of. The undulating of the faithful drowned out Frollo’s very audible groan. He cursed into her neck again and she responded with her own keening whimper. ‘Move,’ she whispered. ‘And here.’ She brought his hand back to her crotch, that sweet wet nub, and if possible when he touched her there she clenched even tighter around him. ‘Move, sis vous plait, Claude.’   
  
The way she half groaned his name and the feeling of her around him made him wonder why he’d denied himself for so long. But only for her was any of this possible. He supported her back with his hand and rubbed her with the other as she moved and he moved in her, with her. He moved faster, feeling her tight and oh so wet. He held his fingers still and she rubbed against them, moans becoming louder with the choir’s song. He did not need to worry about lasting long. He squeezed and rubbed and fucked her just as she had asked him to and soon he heard her swear in her native tongue as he plunged into her, harder than the stone around them and hotter than the fires of hell. She moaned, high as the heavens, nub pulsating and constricting wetly around him. It could not have been more than minutes, but it felt like forever, bringing her - and him - to this edge. ‘Uh, uh, uhhhh, uhhhhhhh!’

 

For the first time ever, he was milked into this tight warmth, giving and receiving pleasure. He came, biting down onto her chest as she orgasmed herself, thrusting out the last of his seed deep inside her walls, fingernails dug into her back by accident. It seemed to linger and glow, only softening as he did, only calming as his heart returned to itself. He felt spent, and yet he wanted to try again, all over. He wanted to put his face where his hand had been, he wanted to lay atop of her like most men did and have her take his seed again, but he wanted her to cry out his name and be eyes-closed, lost in her own pleasure, forgetting who they were, forgetting everything except for sweet release. 

 

Esmeralda finally clambered down and he felt his juices fall from her as he slipped from between her legs. They dressed themselves and when she was done she slip back into his lap, their clothes wet and smelling of sex. She saw he had cried, and wondered if he’d noticed it himself. Her heart was full of pity and strange affection, of lust and of pride. She would seek him again, improve him little by little, they would be free and she would be free to have him inside her and screaming his name by the end, no acting, nothing but the pleasure. She had won, she knew it. And he knew it too.

 

The bells rang.

  
  
  



End file.
